


Artifacts

by Iambic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, mid-OotP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/pseuds/Iambic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus finds an old key.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artifacts

**Author's Note:**

> I have no memory of writing this, but there it was in my fanfic folder all the same.

Remus finds the keys in his old sweater pocket, sitting innocently at the bottom of the chest. Years of books and paper and clothing he never wears anymore had piled on top of it, and somehow the scent has been trapped; the traces of old cigarettes and drying dog preserved for posterity. It punches into his nostrils and slams down his throat and coats the inside of his mouth, and Remus sits down heavily, the keys to 23 Worcester Street cutting into the palm of his left hand.  
  
After a moment he reaches over and replaces a year's worth of research notes (useless) to preserve the scent. The key he keeps, tucked into his trousers pocket, hung on a ring next to his current ones, under a cabinet in the kitchen. The scent clings to him all day as he wanders around the apartment, loathe to leave, but too distracted to do anything but pace. He drinks a cup of tea around six and at seven takes the key again and Apparates back to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.  
  
"I found something of interest," he murmurs to Sirius as the Order gathers around the table; the quick, strained smile isn't quite worth it. Remus passes him the keys under the table, and Sirius stiffens but has the self-control not to say anything until the meeting's through and people are vanishing back to their lives.  
  
"You're shitting me," Sirius says, low and furtive. "You kept the key?"  
  
"It was in a sweater pocket," Remus admits.  
  
Sirius laughs, actually laughs, and it doesn't even matter that he's laughing at Remus. "You kept the bloody key. Remus, you never change, do you?" He claps a hand on Remus' shoulder, shaking his head. "Let's go see it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Our old flat. Let's go."  
  
Remus turns his head to meet Sirius' eyes, an awkward angle. "You can't leave. Sirius. You know that."  
  
"Come on, one trip, they'll never even know we're gone. No one will see us. For old times' sake, Moony, come on!"  
  
The problem with arguing with Sirius is that Sirius assumes he's going to get his way, and Remus assumes he's going to have to compromise, and so one side is already predisposed to winning. Sirius is already getting that victory grin, but Remus has a final card to play.  
  
"The building isn't there anymore," he says. "It burnt down the year after... things went bad."  
  
The shock on Sirius' face is rather more profound than Remus expected. Not a hint of the suspicion that might have been there at Hogwarts, or before or during the war. When did Sirius decide to take everything he said as the undeniable truth? Surely he would've noticed before. Maybe it was just this place getting to him, so that anyone not a Black suddenly looked honourable and trustworthy; maybe it was that it was either trust or fall apart. Or then again, maybe Sirius would've believed him before the war as well. After all, he'd trusted in Peter.  
  
"You never said," Sirius says after a moment.  
  
"It made sense then to keep moving, the work that I was doing," Remus replies with a shrug. "It doesn't matter. It wasn't even that strange -- some idiot forgot to turn off the gas, the place blew. Tragic, but there was so much worse happening all around us."  
  
"So you kept the key."  
  
"Didn't know what else to do with it."  
  
Remus could tell him about keeping it around his neck like Muggle soldiers wore dogtags, have a laugh over the name, skim over the purpose of such an identification. Maybe Sirius would enjoy knowing that -- or maybe he'd just feel guilty about it, like he's guilty about everything. There's a lot Remus doesn't tell him these days. The shadows under his eyes and the lankness of his hair are evidence enough that he's already got plenty to worry about.  
  
"If you weren't a wolf, you'd be a magpie," Sirius snorts, and tugs on Remus' shoulder; Remus obliges and leans down for the kiss. It's softer than usual, a more relaxed Sirius. One bad days, Remus sometimes has bruises later where his fingers were clenched too tightly. They're still making the best of what they've got, and they still haven't got all that much. But they're older now. There wouldn't be anything for them at the old flat on Worcester Street anymore.  
  
When Remus gets home sometime later that night, he opens the chest again and replaces the key in the sweater pocket where he found it. He says, to no one in particular, "I'll get rid of it later."  
  
He doubts he will, though.


End file.
